Brotherly care
by BlackxValentine
Summary: Mycroft stumbles upon a questioning situation as he finds his brother very ill and the Doctor nowhere in sight, questions arise. Questions that have been avoided for many years will finally be answered as Watson questions his role in Holmes life.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Sherlock Holmes.**

**I have to give full credit to oLabyrintho for messaging me with this idea for a SH story. Now I'm not sure if I'll do every idea but hopefully it will be to her liking… and all of yours as well.

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The carriage stopped at Baker Street with the sun shining down on the lantern at the right side of the cab door, opening it Mycroft Holmes stepped out to see the lanterns black writing that read 221b.

His shoes clicking on the cobblestones while he shut the cab door, in his hands an envelope that contained some information about a case he'd just gave his brother.

Going up the stone steps with one hand gripping the railing while the other held the envelope, he reached out for the door and casually knocked a few times; hearing footsteps sound from the other side he was silent until the slowly opened to show the landlady.

"I've come to see my brother. Is he here?" Mycroft asked, watching Mrs. Hudson move aside to let him step into the warm little home. Unbuttoning his coat he put it on the rack beside him, taking a moment to slide the hat from his head and also hang it up.

Mrs. Hudson waited patiently for him to finish before answering him, strands of her graying hair falling into her face that she pushed away before handing him the envelope he'd given her to hold.

"He's upstairs" She told him, he nodded and made his way up to his brothers bedroom door, almost afraid of what might be going on behind it. Knowing Sherlock could be doing anything from experiments to shooting at the wall, he swallowed turning the handle and opening the door to find it wasn't blocked like it would usually be with furniture.

The room was still a mess but it did not reek of chemicals when he stepped inside, "Sherlock?" He called out to hear no response. He walked inside a bit more, leaving the door open and stepping over the papers littered across the floor he looked to the bed; setting the envelope on a table turned his full attention to the bed.

He slowly walked to it and looked down to see a hand on the ground, his eyes widening as he practically jumped across the room and ducked down on the other side of the bed to find his brother on the floor.

His skin pale and drenched in sweat, while the pulse under Mycroft's fingers was rapid, he didn't even know Holmes was breathing until he bent down by his mouth. Relieved to feel a very faint breath hit his cheek he placed a hand on Holmes white shirt and shook him.

"Sherlock." He said in a normal tone of voice, getting no response he tried again. "Sherlock!" This time he slightly raised his voice, "My..croft."

The sound was like music to his ears as his brother's eyes opened half way, Mycroft's relief disappearing as Sherlock's eyelids already started to droop as he began losing consciousness again.

"No.. Try to stay awake." He told Holmes before turning back to the door, "Mrs. Hudson!" He said again with a slightly raised voice, luckily the landlady heard him. He could hear her footsteps coming up the steps and stopped beside him, the next thing he heard was her gasp with one hand covering her mouth.

"What's happened?" She asked the older sibling who shook his head; she was surprised how he still had a straight face as he looked up at her from his crouched position. "I'm not sure.. Where is the doctor?"

"He's busy at the hospital, all the doctors are." Mrs. Hudson replied, her voice was a bit shakier as she continued to look at the sickly Holmes.

"See if you can contact him." Mycroft ordered in a stern voice which she didn't question as she hurried out the door and downstairs quicker than when she came up.

Mycroft moved closer to Sherlock, holding his brother's head in his hands he looked down and closed his eyes before opening them to see Holmes looking at him.

"What happened Sherlock?"

"I.. had a fight with Watson before… he left. Then it's a... blur." Sherlock said quietly as his breaths still came slower than they should be; Mycroft knew the blur was when he passed out on the floor. He heard his brother speak to him again and turned his attention back down.

"Mycroft.. What a-are you-" Holmes was forced to stop his sentence as a harsh, deep cough ripped through his body. Mycroft held onto him to try and ease his shaking as the coughs made his body even weaker, he almost fell completely limp as Mycroft tapped his face.

"That's enough Sherlock, save your energy." He whispered stroking his brother's hair back when Mrs. Hudson came back into the room, "I can't contact the doctor by telegram. No one is replying." She said quietly running her hand over the side of her face as Holmes coughed again.

"Mrs. Hudson, if you would pull those blankets down so I can put him to bed." Mycroft said beginning to lift Sherlock off the ground. She pulled the blankets and sheet down to the foot of the bed before being told to leave for a moment by Mycroft.

When she left he helped Sherlock out of his clothes and into a clean pair of pants; getting him comfortable on the bed he called Mrs. Hudson back in, asking her to fetch some towels, water and tea.

She kindly obliged and went to do as he asked, coming back a few moments later with what he asked for as well as some extra things. "This is fine, thank you." He said politely while she made her way downstairs to make his tea.

Sherlock's eyes opened again, the tired gaze shifting to his brother he tried to say something but could only groan and curl up in a ball wincing as an unexpected pain ran through his body.

Mycroft knew what his brother wanted and got an empty bucket that was on the floor a few feet behind him, without a word he helped Sherlock lean over the bed and held the bucket up. Closing his eyes to the sound of his brother's weak retching while he rubbed soft circles on the back of his shirt.

When Mycroft was sure Sherlock was finished he placed the bucket to the side and wet a cloth with one hand, using it to wipe his brother's mouth as he got him settled once again on the cool bed.

Pulling the blanket and sheet up to his shoulders he watched Sherlock speak again. "Thank you.. Brother.. Mycroft." He whispered causing Mycroft to look at him with a serious expression before sighing at his brother's weakened voice.

"Hush now Sherlock.. Just try to rest." He said quietly as Sherlock's eyes closed and he fell asleep.

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**I will continue this In another chapter… cause I don't want to add anymore to this one right now. So until the next time… (which will hopefully be soon)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes!**

**I would like to thank all the reviewers and people who have alerted my story. Thank you very much.

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**When Mrs. Hudson came back with another cup of tea for Mycroft she finally said something, "Mr. Mycroft."

"Yes?" He replied not looking at her.

"You've been here for almost three hours Mr. Mycroft." She said with a sigh, but Mycroft knew her worry from her voice and finally looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

Her hair was sticking out in places, her eyes tired while her hands a little shaky, "It is late and I think you should go rest yourself, you're not doing him any good by exhausting yourself." Mrs. Hudson told him in a tone that to him sounded like his mother when she would tell the brothers to go to bed; it made him both sad and happy at the thought of his deceased mother.

"I assure you, I'm fine Mrs. Hudson." He answered her trying to sound irritated and hoping that it would make her leave again, but she didn't.

"Go rest in the guest room, it's right next to Mr. Holmes room and I'll wake you if there are any changes." She said raising her eyebrows, he finally rubbed his eyes and sighed loudly. Getting up from the small wooden chair he followed her to the guest bedroom and fell asleep on the bed within minutes.

Taking the seat that was occupied by Mycroft, her hands resting in her lap as her worried eyes watched Holmes sleep. Every now and then wincing in pain and light groans leaving his mouth as his fever toyed with his mind.

She sat with more worry that turned to fright when he suddenly shot up in bed yelling out "I'm sorry!" With a burst of energy in his voice that quickly faded back to the weakened state it was in before.

He was in a sitting position as sweat dripped from his face, his dampened hair falling into his eyes and also sticking to his face. His breathing uneven as his harsh cough attacked him again, it didn't last as long as it did before but it was enough to drain the last of his strength.

Mrs. Hudson with a gentle touch rested one hand on his shoulder while the other lay on his back for support. "Lie down, please."

To Sherlock's fevered mind he couldn't make out a lot of what she said before feeling himself being pushed back onto the mattress, the cool pillows under his head almost stung as it for a moment took away the fever's hold on him.

The heat and dizziness returning seconds later causing him to sink into the bed, he looked at Mrs. Hudson who was looking at him from beside the bed. "Water please.. Ms Hudson."

Without a second thought she poured some water into a cup she had on the table and helped him drink it, "Slowly now." She warned him as he finished. Falling back into the pillows, his eyes growing heavier while he unconsciously muttered again, "I'm sorry."

"For what Mr. Holmes? Why are you sorry?" She asked bending closer to hear him.

"Watson…" The words slipped past his lips when his eyes finally fell, not having the strength to open them again he slept more peacefully then he was a few minutes ago. Leaving Mrs. Hudson alone, with nothing to do but watch over him and hope that maybe he could explain this to her when he's well enough.

She laid her hands on her face and let some small tears run down her face and onto her arms. Using a clean cloth from the table to wipe her face and placed it off to the side, "Oh Mr. Holmes what has happened to you this time?" She asked aloud to no one in particular, keeping her eyes on the man she sighed.

'_I'll have to contact Mrs. Watson.'

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**I apologize for this chapter being short but I mostly wanted to write about Mrs. Hudson and Holmes cause I never see this in any fanfics that I read. Hope you liked it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes**

**I started writing this at 6:00; after doing dishes, wiping down the counters and got the inspiration to write something. How strange is that? Lol

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Mrs. Hudson's eyes began to droop, her chin slowly beginning to meet her chest as her head fell, causing her to throw her head up in order to wake herself. She held back a small yawn, unconsciously rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index finger before standing to leave the room, casting one more glance to the sick man in bed.

"I'll only be a minute Mr. Holmes." She whispered to him while turning the handle of the door, opening it enough for her to slip through without making much noise and slowly moved it back until she heard the click to know it was shut. Mrs. Hudson moved as if she were on auto pilot towards the staircase and went down quickly, taking a seat and began trying to get a message to Mary.

Mycroft's head fell to the side, his nose brushing against the soft pillow causing him to take a deep breath, his eyes opening to see a bedside table and a bowl of soup with a cup beside it.

"Mrs. Hudson," he whispered to himself stretching and sitting up, the blankets wrinkling from his movement as he took the cup and drank it down before taking the bowl of soup, drinking that down as quickly as he did the tea.

Putting the cup inside the empty bowl Mycroft stood slowly, leaving the room to find Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs. "Good to see you Mr. Mycroft, I hope the soup and tea were to your liking." The landlady said with a smile, taking the dishes away from him and watched him open the door to Holmes' room.

"It was Mrs. Hudson, thank you. How is Sherlock?" He asked in a whisper while walking through the doorway, Mrs. Hudson stayed outside the room and watched Mycroft quietly make his way to his brother's bedside again.

"Not much change, he woke while I was sitting with him but fell asleep quickly. I've contacted Mrs. Watson and she is currently going to get the doctor." Mrs. Hudson looked down at the dishes in her hands and sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, her tired gaze moving to the staircase again. "If you'll excuse me."

Mycroft only waved his hand absentmindedly, listening to the sound of the landlady's retreating footsteps and his brother's labored breathing. Mycroft's hand unconsciously touched Holmes' brow, his brother's face glistened with sweat from the heat that burned under the elder's hand.

He pulled his hand away and touched his own forehead in thought, staring at the floor of the bedroom before deciding to look around. Quietly walking across the room to his brother's table that covered with items for what looked like experimentation, one of the glass cups was on its side.

Mycroft's eyebrow raised, his curiosity getting the better of him as he took a cloth that was lying on the table and picked up the glass. Holding it up near his face he found liquid in the bottom of the glass, it wasn't clear like he expected it to be; instead it was a yellow hue and had a strange smell to it.

The smell was faint but Mycroft could detect it, "Interesting." He muttered to himself as the bedroom door was opened. Mycroft moved his gaze from the yellow liquid to the doorway where Mrs. Hudson was standing.

She met his gaze and noticed the glass in his hand, "What is that?"

"I'm not sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with my brother's current condition." Mycroft said clearing his throat while putting the glass and cloth back on the table, turning completely around to face Mrs. Hudson who was standing near Sherlock's bed with the back of her hand on his cheek.

"Mrs. Mary is on her way with the doctor."

Mycroft let out a breath and managed a smile, nodding his head while going over to his brother's bed, sitting down in the chair. "That's good to hear, thank you Mrs. Hudson."

"It's no trouble." She said with a smile similar to his, patting the bedclothes before leaving the room to wait. Mycroft sighed, rubbing his eyes as he sat beside his brother's bed until he heard a sound downstairs.

Turning his head to the sound of footsteps quickly making their way up the stairs and rushed through the door, the figure running past Mycroft and stopping at the bed with a bag in his hand.

"Good to see you doctor." Mycroft said in a casual tone of voice, his eyes meeting Watson's as the doctor started checking over his friend. The room was silent until Watson looked at the elder brother of his partner, seeing his wife and Mrs. Hudson in the doorway he sighed.

"He has a rash and his fever is high right now, I can't tell for sure what it is right now." Watson said rubbing his eyes and leaning against the bedside table.

"Wat-son?"

The doctor looked back at the bed, Sherlock's eyes were cracked open and staring at his friend as a bead of sweat ran down his face. "Yes Holmes, I'm right here. How are you feeling?"

"Good… Thought it.. Hallucination."

"Holmes." Watson said trying to get the sick man's attention, getting closer to the bed. "How are you feeling?" He asked again with a caring and also worried voice.

"My head is.. Pounding. Can't.. Move much."

Mycroft just watched his brother and sighed at the sound of his broken sentences, _'He's getting worse.'_

Watson ran a hand through his hair; his suspicions were now confirmed as Holmes continued to stare at him, "I'm… Sorry, Watson." He said while keeping his eyes open.

The doctor smoothed back Sherlock's damp hair, sliding it down his face while shaking his head, "Don't worry about it old boy, just rest for now."

The room was silent until Holmes' eyes finally shut; his breathing while a little labored began to deepen as he fell asleep with Watson's hand resting on his cheek.

Mary could see the worry in her husband's body language as he turned towards them, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"I think he has Dengue Fever."

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**Believe it or not this was actually the hardest chapter to write so far and I apologize if it seems rushed. If so I'll try to fix that but for now this is all I have, I wanted to give you guys a new chapter sense you have all been so supportive of this story, I can't thank you enough. And I also want to thank oLabyrintho for researching this disease for me. You've been such a big help oLabyrintho, thanks so much!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes**

**So sorry to keep you all waiting for the new chapter, but I thank you all for being so patient. Been very busy lately, just got finished watching my copy of Sherlock Holmes for the millionth time and am ready to get something written!**

**Enjoy!**

Watson stayed beside Holmes the entire night, his eyes never leaving the detective until the sun came in through the cracked open window curtains, shining into the doctors eyes.

The man rubbed his eyes which were heavy, his body wanting so much to sleep which made the doctor focus on both staying awake and watching over Holmes who barely moved all night.

The only thing he really did was twitch and groan in his fevered sleep, his skin seemed to shine in the small light beside the bed as Watson bathed his brow while taking mental notes of any changes.

Occasionally looking under the detectives clothing; noticing that around the middle of the third day that he began to see a change.

A flat, red rash slowly appearing on Holmes' torso, his uneven breathing still sending a ping of guilt through Watson's heart as he gently rolled the sick man onto his side with Mycroft's help.

"The rash is also on his back," he whispered quietly, making sure to add that to his mental list of symptoms as the detective was laid back onto the bed and covered again.

The doctor was silent, not making eye contact with anyone as he leaned back in his chair; his hand gently massaging his eyes that were now shut in deep thought.

_'Fever, rash, vomiting,'_ Watson lost his thoughts for a moment, taking a few minutes to think before the rest of the symptoms returned to him. _'Headache, and body aches.'_

Mycroft quiet stood beside the bed, fixing the blankets that covered his brother while watching the doctor closely.

Taking note of the man's changed body language, his shoulders seemed to sag as he rubbed his eyes slowly with small shakes of his head that meant he most likely knew something he did not want to accept.

"Why don't you share you're new knowledge with us Doctor."

Watson finally removed his hand from his eyes, the weary doctor looking at the elder brother of his close friend with guilt as he took in a quick breath.

"I think Holmes has Dengue fever."

"Dengue Fever?"

"Yes," Watson stood, walking closer to his friends bed; pulling back the blanket and clothing show Mycroft the skin underneath.

"A rash has formed, that combined with his other symptoms seem to point in the direction of Dengue Fever."

"You're sure?" Mycroft questioned, sensing the slight uncertainty in the doctors voice as he began checking over Holmes.

"Might I ask you another question, doctor?"

"Of course," Watson answered, not looking away from the detective as Mycroft took a breath. Looking towards the shut bedroom door.

Listening to the quiet talking between Mrs. Hudson and Mary downstairs before finally voicing the question that had been floating in his mind since the doctor arrived.

"What happened between you and my brother before you left?"

The simple question hung in the air for a few minutes, Watson looked at the older man out of the corner of his eye before finally breaking the pregnant pause.

"We.. We had a confrontation."

"Please elaborate."

Mycroft saw Watson swallow a few times, clearly a little nervous around the larger man as he began to tell him about the conflict between the two of them days earlier.

_"Why do you continue to bring up this meaningless subject?"_

_Watson turned quickly, going towards the detective until their faces were inches apart; the tension stop between them._

_"You nearly died Holmes! You were careless and nearly died because of it!" The doctor shouted in an uncharacteristically loud voice, the anger Holmes heard in his dear friends voice surprised him._

_"I merely forgot to insect the area with more care," Holmes said with a voice that clearly showed he was trying to pass over the subject, not wanting to get into another argument with the good doctor again._

_"That man stabbed you Holmes, if Mycroft hadn't been home, you would of died there."_

_Holmes seemed to dismiss that fact quickly as he looked away from Watson. "He got me when my back was turned, nothing more than a man fighting dirty."_

_"It is much more then that Holmes, you need to be more prepared. I can't bring you the revolver whenever you go out without even thinking to take it."_

_"I do think to take it."_

_"You do?" Watson said with a sarcastic tone and a raised eyebrow._

_"Yes, I simply allow the thought to pass by me on the way out."_

_"Holmes!"_

_The detective turned to his friend, watching him quietly as if he were trying to use the body language displayed to see what Watons was truely feeling until the doctor turned away from him and headed towards the door._

_Looking back at Holmes who was working at his experimentation table, his eyes never leaving his friend as he finally spoke again._

_"All that knowledge you possess, and yet you fail to prepare with some form of protection."_

_"When a case comes forward, it is that thing alone that is first and foremost in my mind." Holmes responded quickly, never taking his eyes off the glass in his hand as Watson grasped the door handle._

_"Well ole' boy, I'm not always going to be there." He said before shutting the door with a loud slam and heading downstairs to the front door._

Mycroft was quiet as Watson finished, sitting down in the chair while the older man sat on the edge of the bed.

"You fought about the night he came to me."

"Yes, I was telling him to be more prepared, to think more about his well being than the case." Watson explained running a hand through his hair, his voice slightly raised with emotion as the elder man sighed.

"That is something my brother has always struggled with, and I can see why you want to convince him to think otherwise."

Watson didn't respond as Mycroft continued.

"However, you must remember that my brother is one of the stubbornest people we will ever meet."

"Indeed."

**I really, really, REALLY, hope that all of you liked this chapter. I also wanted show the argument between Watson and Holmes that is based off the events of 'Brothers' which was my first story involving Mycroft. **

**I'd also like to thank ' OneDarkandStormyNight' for helping me plan out a the flashback and well, everything!**

**Thank you all for being so patient, I'm sorry it took so long!**


	5. Chapter 5

"What can we do?" The question was one that Watson wished he could answer positively, the simplicity of the question and answer were hard to accept as he turned to face Holmes' brother. The older man's usual stoic expression replaced by one that aged him, the lines on his face all more prominent and his eyes seemed sunken in from lack of sleep. Watson knew that nothing he said would ease the man's worry for his brother and that for himself, knowing the answer right now did nothing to subdue his own anxiousness.

"We wait." Mycroft watched the other mans demeanor change, his feelings about everything that has happened as of late clear as he shifted his weight to one leg. Resting an open hand over his eyes as he bent his head forward, clearly feeling a little exposed by all the stress of his friend's condition, mixed with the remembrance of the argument they'd had. Watson stared down at Sherlock's pale face that glistened in sunlight that came through the cracked window curtains, the fever was worsening and there was really nothing he could do.

The most he and Mycroft could do was try to quell the heat with cool rags and pray that Holmes would get well soon; John knew that the disease was normally not fatal and that most seemed to recover from it without any after effects. Although, all that aside, he couldn't help feeling immensely concerned for his ailing partner. The silence in the room was thick and the taste it left was foul, both could feel the growing dread that the detective's condition would continue to decline.

Watson stared out the opened window on the other side of the room, trying to avoid Mycroft's gaze, his eyes burned with what seemed like knowledge on anything that existed in the world to date. He wasn't sure why, but it made him uncomfortable as he felt his body involuntarily tighten in the chair. John guessed it was the strong presence of Mycroft that made him grab Sherlock's wrist, feeling the vein pulsing beneath his fingers and seeing his friends eyes flickering under their lids were signs that he wasn't getting better anytime soon.

"Tell me, Dr. Watson. What do you think of my brother?" The doctor felt his fingers falter as he was lowering Sherlock's wrist, letting his arm fall a few inches to the mattress. Repositioning himself in the chair which seemed to get more uncomfortable as time passed; it was clear, without even looking, that the older man was seeing every string of tension come off his body, waiting patiently to grab and pull them one at a time. The thought was enough to make Watson stand and stretch his cramping limbs, taking position by the closed window that sat a few feet from Holmes' bed.

"Holmes is a very interesting individual, Mycroft. He's unlike anyone I've had the pleasure of meeting, let alone working with." Watson turned the tip of his shoe on the carpet as if killing a bug before the bedroom doors creaking reached his ears; Mrs. Hudson slipped inside, leaving a tray of biscuits and tea on an end table by the doorway before retreating to the rest of the flat.

Watson took a small breath before gazing out the window once again, his thoughts traveling back to the sick detective. "His brilliance is breath taking, not to mention his ability to seemingly read people's thoughts or motives just by the movement of their eyes. I'd have never thought such a man existed if I hadn't met him myself, and yet I find myself, some days, wishing our paths had never crossed."

John could feel the tense air being sliced away by Mycroft's sharp blade of curiosity as he continued to pry, his eyebrow arching, studying his brothers colleague and friend. Wondering what interior motives lie dormant under the Doctor's kind and usually friendly outer exterior, he knew there must be some reason why this man would be with someone like his brother willingly for a majority of the time. Who in their sane mind could put up with the screeching violin at two in the morning, or random bouts of speaking to one's self in public without a care in the world? Leaving the eyes of all those unknowingly standing outside the bubble that enveloped Holmes staring at you like you are the strange one.

_Why would someone subject themselves to that on a regular basis?_ That overall, seemed to be the ultimate question that plagued Mycroft's mind the minute he first met the good Doctor, and even though years have passed since then, he finds himself still haunted to this very moment. The possible answers gnawing at the outside of his head, wishing to get in and pollute his mind with theories based around other people's opinions on the pair. Mycroft has kept the guessing fish from his brain for far too long; growing weary of holding them back, and instead, was going in for hopefully a truthful answer from the Doctor himself.

John knew Mycroft wanted to know an exact reason, and he would have given him one had there actually been one. In truth, there is no real reason why John stays by Sherlock, he feels as if it is his job to watch Holmes' back by standing beside him than watching from afar like most seemed to do. "I just feel it's my job to take the position that most people will never fill if given the choice." He turned slightly to see the bigger man out of his peripheral vision, "Sherlock is someone who while never admitting it, needs to have somebody around. He needs that person to talk to and bounce ideas off of, someone who can provide input so that he may find ways to correct or teach them new ways of seeing the world."

Mycroft was quite while gently spinning the hand that held the teacup, watching the liquid swirl around the rim as if he were in a trance. In that tea he saw the memories of childhood bubbling to the surface, images of he and his brother pestering their parents with heated discussion over miniscule things. The look on Sherlock's face as he pondered anything that was new to him, taking in the objects form, smell, texture, as if memorizing it in case it was needed in the future.

Then came the image of John Watson, someone he had been a little weary of during their first encounter. He saw the Doctor first as just another person who would soon enough leave his brothers side in favor of more 'bearable' company, as all the others had done over the years. However, he was surprised by this one, the one who seemed fascinated by his brother's intellect and sharpness, not caring for his strange behavior and accepting it in order to continue working with him. When all others had left his brother without so much as a farewell, the good doctor stayed. Throwing caution to the wind even with his once fiancé and now wife.

Sure, he had been cautious when he was with Mary and any relationship before that when working with his brother, but he didn't leave. He said he was finished, that he had plans for his life and even that wasn't enough to hide the fact that his brother needed him. Without John as a solid rock in his loud, crowded mind, Mycroft knew his brother would have eventually caused someone to lock him in the nearest sanitarium. Sherlock needs John and John needs Sherlock. A simple answer to the question he has been asking himself for so many years, a simple answer that eluded him until now.

Even with all the love a wife and family can give, there will always be a place in them that needs or yearns for one another's company. That much is now certain and Mycroft couldn't help but chuckle to himself, feeling like an old fool for being blind to the connection between the men for so long. "You're a good man Doctor, and I feel grateful that you are in Sherly's life."

Watson seemed a little taken back by the sudden shift in Mycroft's tone, not to mention the use of his pet name for Sherlock. John wasn't sure what to say until turning to look at Holmes, then back to the older man who wore a faint smile. "As long as I have Mary and Holmes, I don't need anyone else. They are both my worst enemy and best friend. I promise you Mycroft, I'll always look out for your brother, because I know he does the same for me."

"Wise words, you are truly a loyal man, Dr. Watson."

Mrs. Hudson was quiet as she poured the tea, Mary sitting on the other side of the table with a book in hand. Her fingers clutching it like a lifeline as she stared aimlessly at the worded pages, using the illusion of reading to cover up her concern. The trance broken by the sound of a tea saucer as it was placed in front of her, the steaming liquid was inviting as she took it quickly. Sipping at it with nothing but a quick glance and nod to the proprietor who kept her gaze fixed on the young Mrs. Watson. "You're concerned for Mr. Holmes."

"I've said nothing of the sort."

"No, but remember that eyes can tell a completely different story. You're eyes show me that you are indeed concerned for Mr. Holmes well being, as well as Dr. Watsons." Mary could only bit down on her bottom lip as a small tear slipped down her face, the walls she'd created for whenever she was in the detectives presence breaking apart before the older woman who sat across from her. She couldn't stop the painful skip in her heart as she thought of when she'd first laid eyes on the sick man.

"I just can't," she spoke through her teeth that held firmly to her bottom lip until she managed to pry them away, looking the older woman in the eyes. Eyes that were also filled with small tears that remain unshed for now. "I can't imagine the effect it would have on John if Mr. Holmes were to die. It would wound him terribly, despite his love for me; I can see his love for that man." Mary held fast to her cup.

"No, not really love, more of admiration. Mr. Holmes is important to him, and the same can be said for Mr. Holmes. Despite my feelings towards the man, I can't help but give him a chance because of my husband holding him in such high regard." Mrs. Hudson smirked before bring the cup to her lips, warm tea passing into her mouth as she listened to the young woman go on about her feelings on the two men. Finally deciding it was time to throw her own question into the equation.

"How do you feeling about this situation, Mrs. Watson?" Mrs. Hudson saw the woman was a little taken back by the question but swallowed her uncertainty as she answered with a quiet voice. "I know that my heart lies with John Watson, and with that, comes the job of allowing my heart to reside with Sherlock Holmes as a sister would regard an odd brother."

Mary took a breath, and then looked towards the staircase with an honest smile. "No matter where they are, they are connected by something I've never really experienced with another person. It's something so different from the usual bond of friendship you see in everyday life." Mrs. Hudson stood with a gentle smile and took an empty tray from the counter, carrying it as she went up the stairs. Only pausing at the top to turn back Mary at the bottom, smiling.

"That bond is something that cannot be explained in words, only in seeing their actions when together can we see the uniqueness of their partnership and appreciate their need to be near one another."

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**No words can describe how ashamed I am for letting the story go this long without any activity, I can only hope with all my heart that you all can forgive me. Just saw 'Game of Shadows' today and was astounded, in my eyes it surpasses the first film which is quite an achievement.**


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